I participate in this group chat with some solid lads. Last night one of the boys texted, "What last long I'm there you have asked yourself." Which didn't make any f'ing sense to anyone. Quickly someone snapped, "Shakespeare?"
Was our buddy quoting Billy Shakes?
I took that text and made it today's Chalkboard quote and made it sound Shakespearean. I then wrote a Shakespearean short story based on this fake Shakespeare quote called "The Long Inquiry"
In the village of Riverside-upon-DesPlaines there dwelt six fellows of middle years, bound together not by tavern walls nor oak benches, but by a glowing scroll they passed between their hands. On a modern device that kept their words alight though they sat in separate houses. They called it their fellowship, though in truth it was a group text.
Their discourse was of many humors... the fortunes of the Chicago Bears, the latest souls to fall to drink upon that of Longcommon Road, the taste of bourbon, the crisps of pizza dough, the curling smoke of cigars, and on nights most reckless, the storms of politics.
First among them was Tiger, the jester with the sting of Don Rickles in his tongue. He made mock of both conservatives and liberals, then feigned himself one, until none knew his true station. Yet oft when the chat grew hot, Tiger would slam shut his part in it, declaring, “Enough, I am quit!” Only to be lured back anon with promises of fresh jest from Ramone.
There was Ramone, a lawyer sleek and sure, his hair and words equally groomed, who leaned firm upon the staff of conservatism. Petey, soft of speech, cared not for quarrels, preferring to weigh the Bears’ defense over the nation’s short falls. Declan, a democrat with libertine wit, struck sparks with epigrams sharper than daggers. Mickey, a people’s man, had barely slipped the gates of the local Catholic school, yet built himself anew; once he bore the swagger of the ’90s, a teener in his pocket and Pearl Jam in his ear, now he cloaked himself as lib-lab when the winds of fashion so demanded. And last, Jackie, the failure, divorced sire, half-priest, half-poet, who longed to be a herald in the press but was bound instead to the humble bread of a Cafeteria Catholic and a lost political party.
One night, when the moon was thin and the talk turned to whether the realm’s government should shutter its doors, the scroll grew heated. Ramone cast blame upon the democrats, Declan fired bolts in return, and Mickey wove half-truths in the denim of his memories. Petey spoke only of the Bears, yet even his mild words could not quench the blaze.
Then Tiger, summoning wisdom not his own, did write: “What lasteth long? In sooth, thou must inquire within thyself.”
The words fell like silence after thunder. All paused. But Tiger, ever the tempest, declared, “I am done!” and vanished from the scroll and off to the ultra comfort.
The fellowship sighed, for this was not the first time. “He will return,” said Petey. “Like the White Sox in spring,” quoth Mickey. “Like gout,” muttered Declan.
And return he did, drawn back by jest and friendship, as ever.
Thus, the six remained, bound not by agreement but by endurance, their quarrels outlasting the news, their brotherhood surviving each storm. For in the end, as Jackie mused, it was not the shutdowns nor the scores that endured, but the fellowship itself...
...foolish, fiery, and strangely unbreakable.
Happy Wednesday, Happy Black Dog Day, Go Molly! Happy second to last Riverside Farmers' Market of the summer. George Shep will need a job after next Wednesday, if anyone has any local leads.
